


Indigo Nightfall Volume 1: The First Diary of Hayden Windral

by pallidaa



Series: Indigo Nightfall [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 22:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20896871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pallidaa/pseuds/pallidaa
Summary: "The 17th day of the 8th month, the 1942nd year after the forming of Indigo.Mountfitchet, Calem.Hello. If you've found this diary, then either I have died, or, against all odds, Florence's plan actually worked."Hayden Windral is a normal 17 year old girl. Or as normal as you can get when your lineage is full of the stuff of legends, anyway. As much as she wishes it to keep that way, the foretellers of the past predict otherwise. In fact, can you ever truly have free will when your end has been passed down from generation to generation for hundreds of years? Is every single action you do predetermined?Hayden doesn't like what the past has in store for her future, but even if she manages to seemingly escape it, has she really? Or is it, much like everything else, simply a path she has to take?





	Indigo Nightfall Volume 1: The First Diary of Hayden Windral

_(In a library in the city of Arksden, Calem, there resides a book in the Historical Events category. The book itself is rather dusty, suggesting it has not been read or opened in quite some time. If you were to open the book, dusty and old as it may be, this would be found on the opening pages.)_

The 17th day of the 8th month, the 1942nd year after the forming of Indigo

Mountfitchet, Calem

Hello. If you've found this diary, then either I have died, or, against all odds, Florence's plan actually worked.

My name is Hayden Windral. Prior to events which caused me to start this diary, I was a perfectly normal girl with a semblance of what you'd call a normal life. Although how normal your life can be when you have heritage in what seemed to be a fairy tale is a very good question; I still am not sure whether anything that happened in my life was predetermined or if I actually had free will. I'm still not entirely sure to be honest, and I'm not sure I will ever know for sure.

Had you asked me three years ago what my future would entail, I would've told you that I wasn't quite sure. I had grandiose hopes of becoming a famous writer, or perhaps I would've worked for some transport company serving customers. In fact, before this all began I was a waitress. Maybe I will return to a position like that, although I'm doubtful of that. To be completely honest, I'm no longer sure I have a future. You know how it goes with stories of old and ancient prophecies: those at the centre of it all most always give up their lives to see everything to completion, so I honestly don't see a future. Sorry if that sounds nihilistic, but it's sadly the truth.

I suppose I really should start this story right from the beginning. In fact, writing down all that has happened may help me to process it. Although I'm not sure that I will ever be truly able to process it all fully.

So, to start this story from the beginning, we return to the fourth day of the seventh month. As most things important generally start, so too began my story with a letter. Here, I've taken the liberty of taking a copy of it, defects and all:

_(At this point a letter has been pasted into the book, slightly haphazardly, as if it was done in a rush or on a moving vehicle. The letter itself seems to have been copied from another, as the ink is more faded than the rest of the contents of the book, even if it was written about the same time. The words themselves do contain noticeably less faded patches amongst the letters.)_

Miragen Windral  
1401 Mount Pleasant  
Mountfitchet  
Calem

o yau dzes o wunupli yujipli (the third day of the seventh month)

tifa Miraga,

it has been far too long since last I saw yo**u**! Even Hayden mu**s**t now be preparing to leave the nest, **a**s it were.

As you may possi**b**ly have heard from mother, I soon begin my job in the Calem Postal Sorting Office, and as I sho**u**ld arrive a few day**s** in advanc**e**, it would be nice for us to **m**eet aga**i**n, and catch up. Natural**l**y, I do not mean to so a**b**ruptly arrive and impose on you **a**nd your il**k**, and understand if you’re busy, but **i**f you have even just a **s**pare few **h**ours, t’would be n**i**ce to see Ha**y**den and Cairie again after **o**ur **l**ong time **a**part. I’ve missed them quite dearly.

\- Flore**n**ce V**a**lentine**s**

_(The letter ends there. Below that the writings of the original author, one Hayden Windral, continue.)_

Now you might notice that some of the characters in the letter above are much more imprinted than the rest. That's not a copying mistake; those bolded letters are still there on the original document. In fact, I can safely say that they are there intentionally; my cousin Florence's surname is spelt _Valentine,_ with no S. When put together the letters spell out a sentence in Misyu; for those of you not capable of reading the Misyuian language, or for those of you who can but can't figure out what the sentence hidden is, this is the translation:

_U sa busemil. Bakishi yolanas._ [Loosely speaking, this translates to "It has begun. Prepare yourselves. I suppose if this gets read by someone in the future I owe them a brief explanation as to Misyu and its origins.]

Now, I was always told from a young age that this sentence has a special meaning only inside our family. Each individual part is heard relatively commonly on the streets amongst communities where Misyu is still spoken; even together they might be heard sometimes. But for them to be hidden in such a way in a letter from our own blood; that has significant meaning behind it.

It means our prophecy's time is beginning. It meant, for me at least, being forced to leave my normal life behind for as long as necessary to see this to its end, or mine; I thought then and still do that that was more likely. And, for that, I was understandably upset. But I resigned myself to doing what I must to see this through to the end, it's what I was born to do, as much as I hate to accept it.

Naturally my mother responded to Florence, saying that he was more than welcome to visit us anytime now that his work kept him in the area. I too was enthusiastic about this, though part of me wondered how many times we would be able to interact as a normal family before whatever situation had prompted Florence to warn us came to interrupt our normal lives. I didn't expect it to be many.

Three days it was, after my mother responded to Florence's letter, before he arrived one evening at our doorstep. As is customary for our family to do, we took him in as one of our own, because as far as we were concerned, he is. We fed him, gave him a room to stay in, gave him anything and everything he would need to look after himself, especially in a city as big as Casterford, the location for Calem's General Post Office. As is typical for Florence, and indeed for that branch of our family, he insisted that it was all too much and that we need not do this much for him, as he would never be able to reciprocate in kind. His complaining ceased when Ma told him to shut up and eat. I don't blame him; I would've done the same.

Later that same night, if I remember correctly, although it might have been a different night as he did stay for two, both he and my mother retreated to a back room of the house. I knew not to get involved, although I really wanted to find out what they were discussing if it was so important it had to be talked about away from me. In the end, my curiosity won out; I followed them to one of the guest rooms at the back of the house. I could only hear snippets of their conversations, but the few pieces I heard interested me greatly. I could hear my mother being very adamant about me not being involved with something, and then Florence saying 'we didn't have a choice; it was already too late'. I did have some hastily scribbled-down notes; I attach them below.

_(In a similar manner to the letter before, a piece of paper torn out of a larger pad has been hastily attached to the book. Its contents read as such:)_

f: we need to do this

m: she's only 17 [me?]

f: it's time now we can't wait

m: how can you be so sure after all you're only 18  
f: it's not my choice when it happens and it definitely isn't yours

m: i can't let her [me?] do this

f: ...i don't want it either but it must happen

_(Thus ends the insert.)_

I know that that inserted piece isn't written very well, it was hastily written and entirely improvised; but I don't think I could've written something that did the conversation justice myself.

Nothing of interest happened for quite some time, as far as I can remember. Florence came and went maybe two more times, although no more back-room hidden conversations occurred in that time that I could notice. On the 18th day of the month, however, Florence came to our house, both with the intention of visiting, but also with an offer for me; one that intrigued me right from its uttering. He said he would return on the 20th to take me into the city for two nights, as I'd never yet had a chance to explore it properly. He offered me a room in his apartment to stay in, and would show me all the sights of the city that I had never yet seen in person, and those I had in the distant past. Needless to say I was immediately interested, and with my mother's permission, we left on the 20th, the first day of the second Moon of that month.

We were only a short journey away from the Golden City, as the centre of the conurbation had been labeled so many years ago. Although this wasn't the first time I had set foot in the city, as I was a frequent visitor, this as my first time visiting as a proper tourist. From the large building of the General Post Office, to the massive Palace by the River Caster, to the impressive but generally rather pointless statues of important people scattered around the whole of the Golden City, I saw everything over the next few days, and I got to live most every experience the city had to offer. The vibrant markets on the centre's edges, to the authentic replications of 1500s Castrefordda, all the sights and sounds of the bustling, vibrant city's cultural life opened up to me in a way I never thought imaginable before that weekend.

But as is common to most things in life, it couldn't last forever. On the evening of the 22nd day, I had to head back home to Mountfitchet. My disappointment in this wasn't exactly well hidden; although Florence understood my feelings, I did have work to do and he couldn't support having both of us in the apartment indefinitely. So, with my upset visibly printed on my soul, we made the short trip back to Mountfitchet, although as quick as the journey actually was it felt eighty times longer now that I only had regular life to look forward to again.

Or so I thought.

In fact, I doubt there would have been anything I could've done to prepare me for what I would see as I rounded the corner with Florence on the road approaching my home.

I will never truly forget that sight.

Where once stood my house, now lay a pile of broken timbers and burnt stones. A house full of memories, brought to the ground as if it meant nothing at all. I still question if it did actually mean anything in the end.

But fate does not care if you hold a place dear to your heart. It will still find a way to cause you untold amounts of misery, especially when you are returning from a time of immense joy to find your entire life reduced to just burn marks on a pile of wasted materials.


End file.
